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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25380337">A Choice</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades'>TheAsexualofSpades</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Quarantine Drabbles [117]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Torchwood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Royalty, Castle Steward!Jack, Flirting, Fluff, I know she's out of character okay let me live, Jack STOP, M/M, Royalty, Servant!Ianto, ooc gwen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:07:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,791</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25380337</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Torchwood Kingdom, selecting a servant is a massive affair. It involves taking into account one's ability to work as part of the castle, their compatibility with the people they work with, and character analysis by the royals themselves. As the castle steward, Jack plays a large role in influencing the Choice, even if it is ultimately up to the Doctor. He's got his work cut out for him and hey, if he makes a few new friends, all the better. </p><p>Then a servant arrives at his office who is distinctly not from around here.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Quarantine Drabbles [117]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677655</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Choice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>yes more royal au leave me alone</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fandom: Torchwood</p><p>Prompt: “Wh-why are you looking at me like that?”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The door creaks open and Jack looks up. He <em>loves </em>the Choosing Process, so many new faces, new personalities, new playmates. He’s already worked with a <em>stunning </em>blond that has a wicked sense of humor and a demure little brunette that could work her way through a pile of paperwork in an instant.</p><p> </p><p>The guard ushers the newest contestant into his office with a hand on his back. his head is bowed, eyes down, he’s a little slight thing.</p><p> </p><p>“This is Ser Harkness, he’s the castle steward,” the guard says, “you will be working with him for the day.”</p><p> </p><p>He bobbles a bow. “A pleasure, Ser Harkness.”</p><p> </p><p>Oh, he’s a polite little thing, isn’t he? This <em>will </em>be fun.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I think you and I are going to get along quite spectacularly,” he smiles, nodding to the guard that it’s alright, he’ll take it from here.</p><p> </p><p>The door closes and he takes a little step to avoid his hair getting caught.</p><p> </p><p>“How may I help you, Ser Harkness?”</p><p> </p><p>He sits back, twirling the quill in his hands. “Look at me.”</p><p> </p><p>His brow furrows. “Ser?”</p><p> </p><p>“Look at me, please,” he repeats.</p><p> </p><p>He does, looking up and <em>oh, </em>he’s adorable. He’s got pretty little doe eyes, wonderfully wavy hair, and he looks nothing like the smooth elegance of most of Baiya, which makes him <em>wonderful.</em></p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t do anything, just waits and lets him look.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re very pretty, my friend.”</p><p> </p><p>He swallows. “How may I help you, Ser Harkness?”</p><p> </p><p>He frowns. “Do you not like it when I call you pretty, my friend?”</p><p> </p><p>“How may I help you, Ser — “</p><p> </p><p>“My name is Jack.”</p><p> </p><p>He pauses, nodding. “Yes. How may I help you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Come closer, please.”</p><p> </p><p>He does, stopping in front of his desk and folding his hands behind him.</p><p> </p><p>“Pretty, obedient, aren’t you a treasure,” he muses, standing and leaning onto his desk, “have you worked with a castle steward before?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, Ser.”</p><p> </p><p>“I like the sound of that,” he purrs, smirking slightly as he looks at his face.</p><p> </p><p>“How may I help you, Ser?”</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t say anything for a minute, just looking at his face. He likes looking at people, it helps him figure out what they might be good at, what they might like. Plus, all of the people he sees have wonderful shapes. This one is no exception.</p><p> </p><p>The servant doesn’t seem to be used to this though, because as he looks, gorgeous pink blush flames onto his cheeks.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re blushing, my friend,” he remarks, “am I making you uncomfortable?”</p><p> </p><p>The servant shakes his head quickly. He grins. It’s the first actual emotion he’s gotten out of him.</p><p> </p><p>“Have I made you flustered?”</p><p> </p><p>Another shake as the blush deepens.</p><p> </p><p>“Aww, I think I have,” he teases, “you’re very red there.”</p><p> </p><p>“How can I help you, Ser Harkness?” he repeats louder, steeling his gaze and lifting his chin despite the blush on his cheeks.</p><p> </p><p>He slides a pile of paperwork across his desk without breaking eye contact.</p><p> </p><p>“I’d like these delivered, please.”</p><p> </p><p>Ianto scoops them into his arms and makes for the door. He chuckles at his hasty retreat.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, my friend,” he calls.</p><p> </p><p>He halts.</p><p> </p><p>“I haven’t told you where any of those people are.”</p><p> </p><p>The servant turns around and tries to hide his face by shuffling around the papers. It doesn’t work very well.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry,” he soothes, placing a final list atop his pile, “everyone gets flustered the first day.”</p><p> </p><p>The servant leaves again, only stopping when he calls out: “and don’t hide your blush, my friend, it’s very sweet.”</p><p> </p><p>The rest of the week goes similarly; he pops into his office at the beginning of the day, offers a greeting, accepts the pile of paperwork, and vanishes into the bustling halls of the castle. It’s the day before the Choice when he doesn’t have another pile to give him and instead takes him to the castle stores to perform an inventory check. He casts a glance at the list he gives him before tucking into his apron.</p><p> </p><p>“That list might be more useful if you keep it where you can see it,” he chides gently, “though I do appreciate your…”</p><p> </p><p>The servant is already halfway down the shelf with the updated labels, pulling off the old and replacing them with nary a misstep. He follows him with his list in hand. Every label is right where it’s supposed to be.</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve been keeping secrets from me, my friend,” he marvels, watching his hands peel and stick on instinct.</p><p> </p><p>He takes a step back and leans against the casks, watching him move down the line. It’s the quiet dignity in his movements that’s the arrowhead, the confidence with which he moves. Ianto’s actions flow with a grace that, given a slight wardrobe change and a partner instead of a shelf of canisters, he could be spinning around a ballroom.</p><p> </p><p>“Ser Harkness?”</p><p> </p><p>Jack blinks. The servant’s hands pause at the end of the shelf. The fluidity of his movements grinds to a halt. His fingers tremble.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, my friend?”</p><p> </p><p>“Wh-why are you looking at me like that?”</p><p> </p><p>He cocks his head to the side. “Like what?”</p><p> </p><p>The servant ducks away.</p><p> </p><p>Feigning ignorance, he saunters closer, hiding a smile when he goes right back to changing out the labels, making his way down the other side of the shelf. It’s a lazy chase. He lets him finish up the first side, then comes up to his shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Like what?” he repeats, front of his tunic almost brushing his apron.</p><p> </p><p>“Like…” he pulls the list out of his apron, not seeing anything written, “like that.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ah.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“You mean…” he waits for him to look at him properly—“like <em>this?</em>”</p><p> </p><p>And oh, if he thought those little pink flushes he gets from a wink were adorable, this…this…</p><p> </p><p>If he were someone else, if they’d talked about it beforehand, he’d pin him to the shelf and kiss him silly.</p><p> </p><p>“Your face is heating up,” he murmurs instead, hovering his hand near his bright red face. Even without touching him, the warmth prickles his palm. “Is it something I said?”</p><p> </p><p>“Please,” comes the breathless response, “stop.”</p><p> </p><p>Jack tilts his head. “Do you not like it when I look at you like that?”</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t respond, blush too busy coloring his cheeks. Alright, that’s enough. For now.</p><p> </p><p>“I seem to have rendered you inarticulate.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Interesting.”</p><p> </p><p>He backs away, assuming his traditional pose of hands folded respectfully behind his back. “Please, finish up the inventory. I’m sure you’ll have no problems. You’re free to move on when you’ve finished. Or—“ he gives him another once-over—“when you’ve recovered your ability to move.”</p><p> </p><p>With a wink to let him know he’s still teasing, he leaves him in the stores.</p><p> </p><p>The next time he sees him is at the Choosing Ceremony. Of course, he isn’t exactly sure why Yvonne has decided <em>now </em>to invoke the People’s Choice, perhaps because he disapproves of the Doctor’s Choice.</p><p> </p><p>He must not know that Jack can <em>see what’s happening.</em></p><p> </p><p>He’s happy with the Choice, truly. It’s his favorite blushy friend. That little servant’s a spitfire, even if he’s not Torchwood. So he waltzes down the line until he gets to him, smiling when he stops in front of him.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello, my friend.”</p><p> </p><p>He nods. “Ser Harkness.”</p><p> </p><p>“You know, it seems awfully rude that you know my name and I don’t know yours. I can’t just keep calling you Mr. Pretty Blush, now can I?”</p><p> </p><p>And as expected, the blush spreads across his face.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, if I’m going to get a reaction like that every time, perhaps I should.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ianto,” he says firmly, “my name is Ianto.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well then, <em>Ianto,</em>” he says, dragging his name out, “I’m going to kiss you.”</p><p> </p><p>The blush intensifies and he nods jerkily, raising his head. He takes his chin lightly in his hand and hovers over his mouth, before placing his mouth directly under his. As he draws back, he half expects him to pull him back for a proper kiss, but he doesn’t. He simply stands there, blush blooming in his cheeks, waiting for him to stand.</p><p> </p><p>“May I kiss you, please, Ser Harkness?”</p><p> </p><p>“Mm,” he murmurs, “ask me anything like that and you’ll get it.”</p><p> </p><p>He swallows heavily and reaches up to plant a little peck on his cheek. Oh, yes, they’ve made a good Choice.</p><p> </p><p>Ianto is a very fast learner and picks up the castle like pulling on a new tunic. He’s terribly efficient and relentlessly sweet. Luckily for him, though, he’s not got that emotionless armor that other kingdoms force upon their servants. He smiles, he laughs, even though those are rare, and he gets flustered. Meaning he gets to see those adorable blushes and flustered stutters. It’s <em>very </em>rewarding.</p><p> </p><p>Then one day he finds him trying to give something to Gwen, who is being Gwen and poor Ianto can’t seem to find the words to say what he needs to.</p><p> </p><p>“Poor thing,” he says, walking up to the two of them, “are you alright?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, Ser Harkness,” he splutters, stepping back, “I’m just trying to — “</p><p> </p><p>“He’s a blushy little thing, isn’t he,” Gwen interrupts, tapping a finger against Ianto’s red cheek.</p><p> </p><p>“Mm,” Jack agrees, smiling as Ianto tries to bury his head in the papers, “quite a pretty thing too.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hm,” Gwen muses, taking Ianto’s head and turning him back and forth, “pretty enough. I’m sure there are plenty of men here who would settle for him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Settle? Oh, my lady, I wouldn’t call this settling.” Jack gives Ianto a hand in transferring the papers to Gwen. “I quite like this one.”</p><p> </p><p>Gwen scoffs. “Didn’t know you had a thing for devils, Harkness.”</p><p> </p><p>And just like that Gwen sweeps down the hall and she’s gone, leaving poor Ianto a blushy little mess. He frowns.</p><p> </p><p>He’s not the pretty pink that he normally is, nor is he that utterly gorgeous red. Oh. Oh, dear. Gwen’s words are not as easy to brush off, it seems.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry, Yan,” he says, bumping his shoulder against his, “you’re quite a find, <em>amur.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>“What…what does that mean?”</p><p> </p><p>“What? Yan or <em>amur?</em>”</p><p> </p><p>“…both.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, Yan is you, because you’re my friend and I give my friends nicknames. And <em>amur </em>means ‘little love.’”</p><p> </p><p>He’s too easy because the blush—the good one—flares right back up. So naturally, he takes every opportunity afterward to use the nickname. He’s a flirt by nature, so all of these gorgeous reactions only inspire him to keep going. He’s a sweet thing, and he wants him to realize that it’s okay to be a sweet thing here.</p><p> </p><p>And he loves seeing that blush.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr while we're all in quarantine. </p><p>https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/</p></blockquote></div></div>
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